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keep before dark," she replied in no milder voice than his own. |
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"When I ask a question," Ian choked, striding toward her, "I expect to be answered." |
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Alinor drew her knife. She held it close to her body, tilted up wickedly like an experienced knife fighter. There was no waving the weapon at arm's length, which was typical of hysterical women. |
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"And when I do not choose to answer a question my husband asks, he may rest assured the answer does not affect his profit or his honor. It is a subject private to me, and I will keep it that way." |
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Ian stared at the knife in Alinor's hand with starting eyes. "Put that away," he said, almost whispering. "Put it away now, and do not draw upon me again or you will need to kill me to keep me from lessoning you." |
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"I am not one of your helpless fancy ladies, Ian," Alinor spat. "I do not choose to be beaten to soothe your bad temper." |
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"I will lay no hand upon you, upon my honor, if you put up that knife. If you do not" |
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"Do not threaten me," Alinor shrieked. "I am no man's chattel to be used well or ill at his pleasure. I am Alinor, Lady of Roselynde." |
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Ian took another step toward her, raising his fisted right hand while the left, open, was ready to feint at the knife. Because his glance flickered between Alinor's face and the weapon she held, the movement brought his bloodstained hands into his line of vision. Ian suddenly uttered a gasp, dropped his hands, and backed away precipitately. |
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"Begone," he gasped, "get you gone from me before I do you a hurt against my will and against my honor." |
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The words were still threatening, but the face and the voice were not. Alinor read the fear and the pleading note aright, although she misunderstood their cause. She remembered very vividly the berserkerand she believed Ian did also. Furious as Alinor still was, she |
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